and sure enough, their camera had snapped a picture of Liz taking the cash.
The guy confronted her, but even when faced with photographic evidence of her theft, she would not acknowledge that she had stolen the money. “It wasn’t me,” she said as she looked him straight in the eye. It was a blatant lie, and the evidence would have stood up in a court of law, but he didn’t want the hassle of getting authorities involved. Garret, too, opted not to fight Liz. He paid her traffic fine and let it go. Not long after that, Liz wrecked the Civic, and the insurance company notified Garret that they would no longer cover her on his policy.
Liz used the last insurance payout to fix the car. Concerned about the liability of having his name connected to a car she was driving, Garret paid off the loan and gifted the Civic to her. “I told her to get her own insurance and title. That’s when I washed my hands of ever helping her get another vehicle.”
* * *
Dave Kroupa’s days always started early at Hyatt Tire. One morning in the middle of October 2013, he was there, as usual, long before the sun was up. As he pulled up to the shop, he was stunned to see a message, spray-painted in fluorescent orange across the big front windows. He realized this was not a random act of vandalism. He was the target. He felt sick as he read the words, “Dave beats women.” The accusation wasn’t true, but that didn’t matter. The store’s owner was not the easiest person to get along with, and Dave knew that the guy would blame him. “Luckily the paint was really fresh. One of my oil change guys, a friend of mine, had gotten there early, too. We were able to wipe it off, but I would have been out of a job if it hadn’t come off. The owner would have canned me on the spot if I hadn’t been able to clean it off.”
Whenever his stalker vandalized property, she sent a gleeful text or email, claiming credit for her destruction. Today was no exception. It was maddening! He felt threatened no matter which way he turned. Whether he was at work or play, he couldn’t relax. He couldn’t predict what the stalker would do next. He could be sure of only one thing. It would not be good.
It was around this time a year earlier when the lady with the sparkling eyes had come into the shop. He remembered how his heart had quickened as they stood in the parking lot, smiling at each other. Now, as the sun came up, he stood in that same spot, scrutinizing the windows as daylight hit the glass. He had to be sure he’d wiped away every last trace of the tell-tale paint.
He reported the vandalism, and Omaha Detective Paul Prencer responded. He was as baffled as Dave. How had the stalker managed to strike again without being seen? The men contemplated the odd situation. The culprit had to be watching, because she seemed to know Dave’s every move. Where was her hiding place? “I surveyed the area to try to ascertain if there was someplace where someone could have been living that had a view of his place of employment,” Prencer recalls. Dave’s residence was to the east of the shop, and there were also apartments to the west. Detective Prencer went to there to talk to the manager. “I showed a picture of Ms. Farver, and they said she didn’t live there, they didn’t recognize her. Nobody by that name lived there. They didn’t know who she was.” The stalker was as elusive as a ghost in the autumn mist.
The close call had nearly cost Dave his job, and he was upset. At least he had Liz to talk to. The attacks brought them closer together. “That’s what kept bringing us back together so to speak, because I broke it off numerous times. And then something would happen. A window would get broken, there’d be fresh threats, or there’d be a house burned down.”
He felt obligated to Liz because, “Of course, I’m the bad guy who brought this crazy lady into our life, and it’s my fault.” Liz never let him forget that. She asked why he couldn’t have been satisfied with her? Didn’t he realize how good he’d had it? Why did he have to go out and hook up with a nut?